The Good Boy
by ImmortalDarkRose
Summary: A short story that focuses on Remus Lupin, and how he deals with a loss in his life. All the characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling, I am merely borrowing them. One shot, takes place after Book 5.


Lupin stared listlessly into the fireplace, a ragged cloak pulled around his shoulders. He shivered, even though his pale, haggard face was slicked with sweat. He absently rubbed the frayed edge of the cloak against his clammy forehead and let it drop heedlessly to his side.

_Lupin was the prefect, Harry. He was the good boy._

His fingers curled against his knees, the knuckles a startling white. A tremor briefly contorted his features, and then passed. He pulled his chair closer to the fire, his body hunched over. Soon, Alastor would be here, and he would have no more time….

But for now, he could sit here and wish he had done things differently, couldn't he? He could wish he had found a way to tie Sirius down and keep him from going to the Ministry of Magic building. He could wish none of them had ever trusted Wormtail. He could wish he had done something, anything, besides read his little books and smile affectionately at his tormenting friends.

After all, he was the only one left, wasn't he? The one who _should _be dead, the one who should have been killed long ago, still crawled the earth, as did his master. No, it had been fate's decree to kill the best of them, the two who had so much to offer…leaving behind the traitor.

And the good boy.

A half sob, half laugh purged itself from his throat unbidden. He glanced knowingly at the window, shielded from offering him a glimpse of the outside world by a pair of heavy black curtains, charmed to never open. 

He rocked back and forth, another painful tremor shivering its way along his thin body.

Sirius was dead. The one he had loved the most, the first one to become an animagus, simply so Lupin wouldn't be lonely during the full moon. Dead. Struck down in battle, yes, which is the way Sirius would have wanted to go. But that didn't make the fact that he was dead any easier for the one left behind.

Lupin thought of their last conversation, if it could even be called that. Moments away from descending upon the Death Eaters, fearful of what they would find, Sirius had put his hand on his shoulder.

_Remus…take care of yourself. Take care of Harry_.

And what had he said? Had he said, Sirius, don't go in there…Sirius, run now before it's too late…I love you, you're my best friend, I would die for you…?

No. He had simply nodded. Of course, there had been no time for real conversation. Harry and his friends were in danger; it could have already been too late.

But couldn't he have said _something_?

Another wave of pain descended on him, and he gritted his teeth together.

Always silent, Remus Lupin. Always the good boy, reading his books….

His nostrils flared as his shadowed eyes stared blankly at flame. Yes, that would be Alastor…he could smell him in the air, hear his footsteps on the walkway, even through the closed, bolted door.

Sure enough, moments later there was a tapping at the door. When Lupin didn't open it right away, Alastor Moody took his wand and forced the bolts. Dragging a heavy bundle behind him, he pushed through the door.

"You're late," Lupin said brusquely.

"Good evening to you, too," Moody replied gruffly. His magical eye rolled from side to side, before fixing directly on the balled up form of Lupin, perched on the end of the chair. That eye never wavered as his other eye shifted to the heavy sack he had carried in. Opening it, he pulled out a pair of gleaming chains that sparked with a faint red light. "Well, let's get to it then. Moon's up."

Lupin stood up and made a big show of stretching his thin arms over his head. "You know…maybe next month." He kicked the chair out of the way and whirled to face Moody, his gray eyes gleaming red with reflected firelight.

Moody already had his wand drawn. "Come now, Lupin. You know the drill."

"I've decided I don't care for the drill over much." Lupin's face contorted for a moment, and he glanced down at his palms. Tiny hairs were already starting to sprout along his pale flesh, and he looked slyly up at Moody.

"I'm not letting you go out there and do something stupid, Lupin. You aren't pulling a Black on me, not tonight."

Quick as lightening, Lupin had his wand drawn. He never would have stood a chance against Moody on a normal night.

But this wasn't a normal night. Not for someone like him.

He had Moody disarmed before the aging wizard could even focus his bulging magical eye.

Lupin walked toward him, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists.

"Don't you know that half the fun is in the risk?" He smiled at Alastor, reveling pointed, elongated teeth. "That's what Sirius would have said."

"He's dead, Remus. No use getting yourself killed trying to deal with that."

"I'm not the one dying tonight." A violent tremor seized him then, and he stumbled away from Alastor, his back slamming against the wall. He lowered his head, a pained gasp escaping his lips. The gasp rose in pitch and then became a howl.

He sprinted for the door, shoving Moody out of the way. As he ran down the walkway, painted silver by the light of the hovering full moon, he dropped to all fours. Loping toward the street, he turned sharply.

_Crack._

"Woman, will you stop doing that? You're making me nervous."

Bellatrix Lestrange looked over her shoulder before shooting a condescending look at the man standing beside her in the darkness.

"I'm telling you, Rodolphus, _honey_, I heard something."

Behind his mask, his dark eyes rolled. "Imagine that, hearing noises in the forest, late at night."

Her hooded eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Keep at it, darling. I'm in a foul enough mood as it is."

A handful of Death Eaters, angry at their recent defeat to the twit Potter boy and his loser friends, were out for a sporting, laid back night of muggle hunting. A small village of the dirty blooded, non-magical cretins glimmered in welcome just beyond the jagged edge of the forest. A few Death Eaters had already descended, judging by the squeals filling the air, liked butchered pigs. It was music to any Death Eater's ears.

When Bellatrix looked over her shoulder yet another time, Rodolphus let out a hiss.

"I'm going to go see what Macnair is up to," he muttered, charging ahead, twigs snapping beneath his feet as he pushed through to the clearing beyond the grove of trees.

"You do that. Stupid prat." Bellatrix glared spiteful at her husband's back before looking around her again. Oh, well. She really needed to stop acting like she was unhinged. After all, she had promised the Dark Lord she would bring him a pretty young muggle child to torture, and she wanted to get to the village before all the good ones were taken.

She stomped toward the edge of the forest. A low, menacing growl stopped her in her tracks.

"Who's there?" She whirled around, wand drawn, but the wand was slapped out of her hand by a hairy paw. Startled, she gazed with widening eyes at the creature towering over her.

The wolf seemed to smile at her, its eyes gleaming red, its gray fur matted with twigs.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing," Bellatrix cooed, her voice wavering as she took a careful step backwards.

"Save it," was the heated, animalistic howl of a reply. Before Bellatrix could say anything more, the wolf pounced on her, pushing her to the ground.

"Hey, what's going…"

"Shut up." The wolf licked its lips, and a thick glob of saliva dropped onto Bellatrix's unmasked face. "This is for Sirius. This is for Sirius, and the Longbottoms."

"W-what is?" she stammered.

The wolf raised one paw, and curled, pointed talons sprang from the padded sole.

"This."

Macnair and Rodolphus Lestrange, standing near the edge of the muggle village, looked up briefly from their cigarettes as a piercing, bloodcurdling scream filled the air, echoing in the stillness around them.

Macnair grinned at his brother in darkness. "I do so love the sound of muggles shrieking away into oblivion, don't you?"

Lestrange laughed and clapped Macnair on the shoulder. "I'm itching to use some long neglected Unforgivable curses. Shall we?"

The two Death Eaters laughed again, linked arms, and strolled leisurely through the muggle gate.

And at the edge of the forest, a bloodied wolf raised his gleaming jaw, howled contentedly to its good friend the moon, and loped away into the darkness.


End file.
